


Witch Blade

by rufousnmacska



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Kingdom of Ash, blackbeak witches, crochan witches, ironteeth witches, the thirteen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 11:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16407485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufousnmacska/pseuds/rufousnmacska
Summary: A manorian story set after Kingdom of Ash(contains KoA spoilers)





	Witch Blade

Rhia lunged, grunting as her short sword slammed into the training dummy. It struck just below her intended target. Her father and uncle had just walked in and their appearance in the edge of her vision threw her off step.

“Focus!”

A blunted sword tip slapped against the back of her legs and she snarled, turning around to glare at her instructor.

Una just huffed a laugh and pointed to the dummy. “Again. This time with your left hand.”

Her weaker side.

Rhia closed her eyes to concentrate, blocking out the muffled words coming from the corner where her father and uncle stood. They were both fierce swordsmen, almost as good as her mother. But she couldn’t get sidelined trying to eavesdrop on what they thought of her technique.

“Eyes up, Rhia!” Una barked.

All of her attention went back to the sword in her hand - the left one now - and the way her feet floated over the floor as she moved in to strike. She ignored the audience and lost herself in the movements, pretending she was facing a demon horde instead of a bag stuffed with grain.

When her training had finished for the day, she thanked Una and ran over to her father. Uncle Chaol was already gone, no doubt off to some meeting.

“What did you think papa? Am I improving?”

***

Dorian knelt down, brushing back his daughter’s dark hair from her sweaty face. She was still catching her breath from the exercises Una had ended the training with. Her golden eyes, as beautiful as her mother’s, flared in anticipation of his answer. His own narrowed, as if in deep concentration, trying to decide what he thought of her developing skills.

Rhia sighed inpatiently and he laughed, ruffling the top of her head.

“You were brilliant, my love! Getting better every day.” Her face beamed, a sight he would never tire of, never stop trying to elicit from her.

Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and he stood, picking her up with him. “Bath time, witchling.”

“Aww papa,” she groused, but made no move to push out of his arms.

As they walked to the royal suite, Dorian told Rhia her favorite story. About how her mother defeated the old Ironteeth matrons to become Witch Queen. About how her mother moved like the wind, battling against three witches to defend her people. About how when the fight ended, her mother was aglow from the crown now sitting atop her head.

Every time he told it, she’d listen in rapt silence, taking in each word. He did his best to describe it, drawing imagery from all his favorite books, knowing she was trying to picture it all in her mind. But he didn’t think he ever really did it justice.

By the time they reached their bathing room, the tale was done and she was quiet.

“What’s happening in there, witchling?” he asked, tapping her head gently.

Rhia’s golden eyes settled on him as he turned on the water. “Will I ever be as good a fighter as mama?”

Dorian heard movement from the bedroom but kept his attention on the seven year old in front of him. He saw her mind working, wondering at all she’d need to be someday. A Queen of Adarlan and a Queen of the Witches.

Leaning down to meet her troubled gaze, he said, “You will be the fiercest queen to wield a sword since the queen you’re named after, Rhiannon.” She didn’t look convinced.

Reaching over to test the water, he said, “You know... I’m not too bad with a sword.”

“I know, papa.”

“Did you also know that I trained not only with Uncle Chaol, but also with your Blackbeak aunts?” His hand fell to the sheath hanging from his belt.

Her sharp eyes caught the movement and widened.

“I know you’ve heard the stories about them. The Thirteen who followed your mother into battle, never once straying from her side. The Thirteen who saved a city and all of our world.”

Rhia nodded. She had most of the tales memorized.

“Those witches were known across continents for their skills with the sword and bow.” Dorian placed the object he pulled from his hip onto his daughter’s lap. “And the blade.”

With tiny, trembling hands, Rhia touched the witch blade. It was something that never left his side except to sleep, and even then, it was slid under his pillow. Not really for protection, but as a reminder.

“Your Aunt Sorrel was the best hand fighter of the Thirteen. Of all of the Ironteeth. She taught me. And on the day I finally bested her, she gave me that blade.”

A soft sound from the door had him turning.

Manon watched them, her eyes bright and burning, a hand over her mouth.

“So... you mean...”

He looked back to Rhia.

“I will be a great warrior because _both_ of my parents are?”

Dorian smiled, twisting back to find the doorway empty.

He took the blade and laid it on the side table. Rhia’s gaze followed it like a hawk, never leaving it even as he helped her out of her training leathers.

“I’m definitely not as skilled as your mother. But I’m certain you will surpass me.” Water splashed as she climbed into the large tub. “I have a feeling that if you keep training hard, and never forget that your aunts are watching over you, you will be a great warrior queen.”

A distracted nod, her attention still on the blade.

“Let’s make a deal.” Rhia looked at him then, hearing the promise in his voice. “When you can beat me with your sword...” She gasped. “Left handed,” he clarified, biting back a smile at her crestfallen face.

But it lasted less than a second, replaced almost immediately with a look of steely determination. A look that was as familiar to him as the sun that rose each day. “Then you will inherit Sorrel’s blade.”

“Deal!”

Leaving her to play in her bath, Dorian glanced around the corner into their bedroom.

Manon sat on the bed, head bowed. She didn’t look up at his approach, but wrapped her arms around his neck as he knelt and embraced her.

“I wish she’d met them,” Manon whispered in his ear.

“I know,” he said, squeezing tighter after a shudder ran through her body. “She’s here because of them. They’re watching.” She nodded. “And they’re probably placing bets on how quickly it will take her to win that blade from me.”

Her shoulders shook with laughter and she pulled away. “They probably are.”

He feigned offense, then kissed away the tear that had fallen down her cheek.

“Mama!” Rhia’s voice rang out from the bathing room.

Manon and Dorian both smiled, knowing what was coming. “Yes, witchling?”

“Can you start training me tomorrow instead of Una? Left handed?”

They held in laughter and it took a moment for Manon to reply. “Only if you go to bed every night when you’re told to. Deal?”

They heard a loud, frustrated sigh. “Okay.” Then, more quietly, “But I’m getting tired of deals.”

The King of Adarlan burst out laughing and the Witch Queen shook her head.

“She gets it from you,” Manon said, rising and walking into the other room.

He didn’t argue, too busy basking in the glow of her smile. And when he joined her, he found his wife and daughter grinning wickedly as they began to plan his inevitable defeat.


End file.
